The Sound of Building Coffins by Louis Maistros

Author:Louis Maistros
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Literature, U.S.A., American Literature, 21st Century, Amazon.com, Retail
ISBN: 9781592642557
Publisher: Toby Press
Published: 2009-01-31T15:00:00+00:00

Chapter twenty-eight

I Promise, She Lied

“Easy now, Mr. Marcus.”

In the relative calm of the stairwell Malaria’s husky coo was hardly audible to her own ears above the racket of the music hall above. With the subliminal guidance of her touch to his elbow, Marcus’ whiskey-addled brain negotiated the steps before him, his labored breathing mixing with the cacophony of voices in his head, a combination that fogged all else.

“Not too fast, Mr. Marcus. Don’t wanna go ’n trip,” Malaria scolded, as he thumped heavily onto the second floor landing. His eyes brushed momentarily over the frosted glass window of a door that announced EAGLE LOAN AND PAWN before inching towards the precipice of the final flight down. The air did not significantly cool as they reached the ground floor where the Eagle Saloon sat nearly empty, but a muggy breeze through an open window offered mild relief from the stifling night. Malaria led him to a high stool by the bar where he slumped and let out a sigh.

“Barkeep,” Marcus brightened marginally. “Couple shots of yer finest scotch for me and my fine young friend. No ice, if you please.”

The bartender known as Larry Man Larry raised an eyebrow to Malaria for confirmation.

“Now, Mr. Marcus, could be you done had yerself enough for tonight,” Malaria offered hopefully.

“Nonsense, my dear. I’m just gettin’ paced is what. Night is yet young.”

She bowed a nod of surrender and Larry poured out two shots, blank-faced and muttering something about not having no ice anyhow. Marcus smiled and laid a hand over Malaria’s. “All the fuss about your famous sister and I always thought you was the pretty one, Malaria. True and true.”

Larry’s dog, an effeminate poodle named Outlaw, emitted a decidedly un-intimidating trill of a growl from beneath the bench of a nearby and vacant upright piano.

“You’re so sweet,” she said without smiling, petting his forearm as if it were a cat. After a few moments closely examining the untouched glass before him, he pulled both of his hands down to his lap in a gesture akin to defense, interlacing his fingers into a nervous ball before looking at her sideways with wet eyes.

“Malaria, I know you think I been talking crazy up there, but when there’s something ain’t right in the world a fellow has to step up and do something ’bout it.”

“You always done right far as I ever knowed, Mr. Marcus.” She was wondering to herself if it would be okay to just leave him here like this, to skip back upstairs and squeeze out a few more tips while the night was still ripe and raging.

He locked eyes with her softly. “Do you think I’m crazy, Malaria?” He asked her this as if the question carried grave weight. “And I’d appreciate it if you told me true.”

“No, of course not. You’re my good friend, Mr. Marcus. Always have been, since I was small. You know that.” Fact was she thought him a nutty old kook, if endearingly so.

“I’m much appreciative of kindness even when it ain’t necessarily true, so I thank you, my dear.

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